Six years after I first applied for a firearm permit in New Jersey, I finally received one a few weeks ago. (I didn’t even have to check “white.”) The application that succeeded was submitted in January. Four months later, an approval arrived digitally in my inbox, without explanation. I can now legally purchase as many rifles as I want, and a handgun.
For years, the permit itself had taken on a symbolic meaning in my mind—less about ever actually getting a gun than what it meant to be told no over and over again. But once it finally arrived, I found myself wondering if I actually want one.
I texted a close friend from northern New Jersey, a Palestinian American Muslim who attended the same Islamic school I did growing up. He was ecstatic. Within minutes, he was joking about starting a gun club for former Islamic-school kids, schooling me about differences in calibers.
A few days later, that same friend brought me with him to the range on Memorial Day weekend. It was packed. He brought his 10-year-old son, too, along with what looked to me like an arsenal: rifles, handguns, and a large plastic container filled with ammunition. That may have been the first moment I understood how far I still was from the culture of this. My body still jumped at every loud pop from guns shot behind the thick glass. My friend’s son seemed entirely unfazed by all of it. While I stood at the counter filling out a lengthy waiver, he casually surveyed the wall of accessories for sale.
Later, at his house, he let me hold a few of his guns. He talked me through what to notice: weight, grip, balance, whether it felt like something I could actually learn on. I felt a little overwhelmed. Not afraid exactly, but aware that I was still at the very beginning of something that goes much deeper.
His advice was simple: “This is the fun part,” he said, smiling as he talked through the options. For as overwhelming it could all feel, it was nice to be reminded by someone like me that this was supposed to be fun. For all the symbolism I’ve attached to it, it’s something most gun owners just own to collect and practice shooting with.
Maybe gun ownership will remain something symbolic for me, and I’ll keep putting off actually buying one. For now, having the permit feels like enough. I waited six years for the state to decide if I was allowed to be the type of person who owns guns. I can wait a little longer before deciding whether I am.
— Aymann Ismail in Long Shot
Most of the Slate commenters seem angry he wants a gun. Lol.
A lot of “how dare you highlight the racism in gun control”
Note to author – you’re not. But since your right to self-defense is inherent and we’re, even if New Jersey doesn’t like it, still living in a republic, with a Constitution that defines and protects our inherent rights, you might be someday.
It seems to me that the author may still be concerned about the anti-gun propaganda that implies that owning a gun turns one into a violent maniac.
To that, I say:
It doesn’t. Your friend proves it. He is correct. Not only is a firearm just a tool, it can be fun to shoot and hit your target. Like his son, you’ll get used to it.